The Midnight Hours
by Reminscees
Summary: "You're stronger, now. It's the same bones and the same skin, but you're stronger."
_**THE MIDNIGHT HOURS**_

It started like this; it was warm, the last of boiling heat sizzling in the city, and term had just begun. Summer was still present with a brute, amused shout, the air was thick, and it smelt of stained metallic, red hot iron stabbing into Tooru's skin as he lay in front of the open window. The air-conditioning of Hajime's apartment had broken a week ago, and so he was sprawled underneath white curtains dancing into the room. A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up towards the cracked ceiling, and then rippled over the linoleum floor, making this shadow as wind down on sea. The only stationary object in the room seemed to be Tooru's limp figure, buoyed to the floor. The curtains whipped and snapped, and the framed pictures which hung on the wall— photographs of Hajime and him, of their friends and family— groaned.

There was a boom as the front door slammed, and then the faint pitter-patter of bare feet on cheap linoleum.

"Hey," Hajime said quietly. Tooru shifted, and lifted his head to look at him. His tan skin glistened in the bright, white evening sunlight— it was eight p.m., now— and was coated under a thin coat of sweat. Tooru never minded Hajime's sweat, though; some men simply smelt amazing when they sweated, and Hajime was one of them. He looked back down at Tooru, meeting his gaze for a long while, and his expression seemed to promise that there was no one in the world he so much wanted to see.

"I bought some popsicles," Hajime continued, lifting the grocery bag which dangled from his left arm, "They're probably melted, though."

"I don't care," Tooru murmured, in that way he had; Tooru's mumbles and hushed voice made others want to lean towards him. Hajime dropped the plastic bag, and it rustled as it collided with the floor. Tooru sat up and spread his arms towards it. He dug inside of it, ripping open the cardboard box, which was a little wet from precipitation, now, and ripped open the plastic wrapping of one of the popsicles. He stuck it inside his mouth, discarding the wrapped inside the plastic bag, and watching Hajime's arm muscles flex and move as he sat down beside Tooru, facing him.

"It's pretty hot today," Hajime said. His voice was rough under the strain of the heat.

"Yeah," Tooru replied, though it was muffled from the ice-cold sugary juices of his popsicle.

Hajime pulled off his shirt.

"Sorry," he said, "Do you mind?"

"No," Tooru coughed into his fist, "Not at all— it's fine. We grew up together, didn't we?"

"Yeah," Hajime sighed, mouth turned upwards in a fond, shy smile, "We did."

Tooru laughed, lightly, as though he had said something very witty. He finished the last of his popsicle, and dropped its wooden stick into the plastic bag beside him, digging inside of the box once more.

"Are there any red ones left?" Tooru asked.

Hajime swallowed thickly; throat dry and rough.

"You hate the red ones," he replied.

Tooru shrugged.

"They all taste the same," he said, and pulled out a plastic coated popsicle, peeling its wrapper off and sticking it between his lips.

Hajime felt sort of dizzy, and he could not stop staring at those lips. Tooru's his mouth was stained the prettiest red from eating that cheap, frozen popsicle, and it seemed to have given him a sugar rush, too. He grinned at Hajime, and Hajime never wanted to taste cheap red artificial flavouring on anyone's breath so badly.

He choked down a thousand half-formed thoughts, a million possibilities of honesty towards Tooru, and leaned forward, resting his head between Tooru's shoulder blades. The quick flutter of his beating heart flooded Hajime's ears, and it wired itself into Tooru's brain, too.

It pounded and echoed through Hajime's head long after that.

"Stay here," Hajime said, "Tonight, I mean."

The ceiling creaked— the upstairs neighbours were moving furniture— and outside, a car alarm rang.

Tooru was silent. He did not do anything, at first; he made no move at all. Hajime did not shift, either, his limbs seemed stuck, though, eventually, Tooru inhaled shakily, and then, Hajime could feel Tooru's breath as he spoke.

"Are you trying to save me again?"

Hajime stopped himself from blurting out _yes_. His eyes stung, a little, and he was sort of worried he'd start crying.

He hadn't understood what Tooru meant with that, and yet, it felt horrifically honest.

"Stay the night," he repeated.

Tooru hummed in agreement. He hadn't said anything, and yet, it was enough. Hajime understood him, like that. He tightened his hold on Tooru, as though he wanted to protect him, to keep him close and safe.

They did not part for another perfect eternity.

The next time they were alone once more was three weeks later. Tooru had spent a lot of his time sleeping, he was exhausted a lot more, and he looked drained. Hajime had expected this. Tooru got worked up, a lot, with his law degree and all, though he was too damn good at hiding it all. Tooru had assured him via text, followed by an unconvincing smiley face, and he was _Fine, Hajime— I'm just super busy with this case!_

His carefully composed facade broke at two in the morning, in Hajime's car in the dark, after driving out to pick up Tooru, since he'd worked so late at the library. He hadn't wanted Tooru to take the train this late, tired and over-worked.

Tooru sobbed into Hajime's shoulder, now, and Hajime felt all the strings inside him break.

"I can't do this," Tooru hiccupped, chanting the words underneath his breath, "I can't do this— I can't take it any longer, Hajime."

Hajime did not know what to do. All he could do was let Tooru's shaking hands grip the front of his hoodie, and twist awkwardly in his seat to get closer to Tooru, holding him close with trembling hands.

"Tooru," he said softly, running a hand through Tooru's dishevelled hair, likely brought on by his own nervous carding through it, hunched over a desk alone at the campus library, "Hey, c'mon— Tooru—"

"I can't do it," Tooru breathed in a shuddering, far too quick exhale, "I can't— everyone can do it, everyone _else_ can handle it, but I can't. Why can't I just deal with it?" he buried his face deeper and trembled, "What's _wrong_ with me?"

Hajime nudged Tooru, and Tooru lifted his head, slowly, to look at him. His face was red, splotches of colour inked over his pale skin, and his eyes were irritated.

"There's nothing wrong with you," Hajime said, and he could pinpoint the moment his heart crumbled, as Tooru let loose a guttering sob, aching into his bones, "Maybe— maybe you just need help, and that's okay. It's okay to need help; everyone does, some time or another."

Tooru was silent for a long moment, save for his shaking breaths.

It was past four in the morning when Hajime pulled up outside of his apartment. Tooru stared out of the window, at the passing tall building and fast cars. It was quiet, in the night. Tooru's face was tearstained, and Hajime decided, not for the first time, that Tooru simply had to stay the night. It was not a question, and it was not the first time that they'd slept in the same bed, Hajime's chest pressed against Tooru's back, arm slid around his waist beneath the blankets. Tooru's breath hitched, thick with tears, and he tentatively laced his fingers with Hajime's.

Two weeks later, Tooru called him.

"I went to the doctor, today," Tooru's voice sighed into Hajime's ear, "You were right. They think I have depression."

"Oh," is all Hajime could reply.

"Yeah," Tooru continued, "They put me on anti-depressants."

The first time Hajime saw Tooru after he started his medication and all, he was a nervous wreck. It was in Tooru's bedroom, and his eyes were stained red from crying after therapy, and he wore a bigger smile than Hajime had seen in a long time. Hajime swore his heart grew three sizes in his chest.

"How was it?" Hajime asked softly, leaning up against Tooru's headboard as he watched rain trickle down the window.

"It— it was good," Tooru said, dropping his coat and bag onto the floor. He climbed into bed beside Hajime, and Hajime watched him sit next to him. Tooru leaned his head against Hajime's shoulder, his soft hair tickling Hajime's chin.

"I feel sort of lost," Tooru continued, "I should be happy, I guess, but I— I mean, it's just—"

Hajime waited for him to finish.

"It's just what?" he asked.

"I've done all this before," Tooru hushed, "I took medication in high-school, briefly, after I fucked up my knee. It just— it feels a little useless. I mean, I couldn't fix it once. Who says I can fix it again?"

"I do," said Hajime, "I think you can. I'll tell you everyday if I have to. I think you can fix it. This isn't like the last time. It's different, now— I'm here. Diagnosis and medication is only the first part of treatment."

Hajime suddenly felt immensely grateful for every variant of _Depression— What is it?_ and _Dealing with Depression— What To Do Now_ articles and books he read, and phrases he could not help himself from memorising.

"Yeah," said Tooru softly, "You're here now, Hajime."

Tooru never spoke a lot about his past, and Hajime merely nodded slowly. He did not seem like he would open up to him now, but as Tooru leaned into him and his breath evened out, it felt so comfortable and intimate in all the ways that made Hajime's chest feel tight that, for a moment, Hajime thought Tooru would be entirely honest, for the first time.

The streetlight outside Tooru's window flickered on, and the surreal orange glow threw Tooru's face into an array of stark relief. It was almost painful to look at, though, for one reason or another, Hajime could not look away.

Tooru reached out for Hajime's hand, then, and Hajime let him find it, intertwining their fingers gently, as though he were asleep.

In the next few weeks, Hajime had grown to know the difference between times when he had to come over to drag Tooru out of bed, and times he had to stay with him, and hold him close, run his fingers over Tooru's spine and through his hair, and whisper reassuring words into his ear.

The latter occurred far more often than Hajime preferred it to, like now, when Hajime woke up early, it was still dark outside. Tooru was in bed with him, behind him, his right hand holding Hajime's shoulder. Hajime stopped breathing. He rolled over to face him, and Tooru looked so pale in the midnight darkness of Hajime's bedroom.

"Tooru—" he said, softly.

Tooru opened his eyes, then, far too quickly. He must have been awake for a long while.

"We used to do this," he whispered, "We used to do this a lot."

He did not state it as a question, and yet, he was waiting for Hajime to confirm it.

"Yeah," said Hajime in a soft exhale, almost one of relief, "I remember. We shared a bed over summer, when we were kids. You were just skin and bones, back then," he grazed his lips over Tooru's sternum.

Tooru sighed and let himself be turned over, back flush against the mattress. Hajime hovered above him.

"You're stronger, now," said Hajime, "It's the same bones and the same skin, but you're stronger."

"Did we do this, too?" Tooru whispered.

They never did; Hajime had thought about it, he'd thought about the weight of Tooru's hand in his, and what it would be like to kiss him— tooth-chipping, awkward, with far too much vigour and enthusiasm— and he thought about what Tooru's face would be like if he'd watch him go over the edge, whether he'd be loud or quiet.

Hajime craned his neck to look up at Tooru. His eyes were still open, focus uneven, and yet, his gaze was entirely addressed at Hajime, as though nothing else in the entire world mattered as much as he did.

"Hajime—"

He'd kissed him, then and there. Tooru's lips were soft against his, and he pushed up towards him, fingers spread and flat over Tooru's pelvis. His mouth was dry, and when his tongue pressed against Tooru's, he swore his heart jumped up to his ribcage.

Hajime had pulled back as quickly as he came in.

"I love you," he said, and it was so easy.

Tooru raised a hand and cupped Hajime's face.

"I love you, too," he whispered.

Hajime smiled, and let loose a quiet, shy laugh. Tooru grinned nervously, as though he could not quite believe it, either and Hajime pressed against him. Tooru was all fragments, now, pierced together. He was different than the kid he was in those summers, all those years ago, and he was different than the raving avenger of adolescence he was in high-school. He was here, now, and Hajime could think of nothing else other than to kiss him again, and so, he did, because he could.

Tooru leaned up towards him, inching closer, and Hajime rested his hand on his hip, fingers sliding up underneath his t-shirt. Tooru hummed lowly, and wrapped an arm around Hajime's neck to pull him in closer, carding his fingers through Hajime's hair and pulling him in closer, earning a low, rough grunt from him. Tooru was pressed deeper into the mattress as Hajime rutted his hips against Tooru's, rolling them upwards. Tooru moaned, lowly, and Hajime swallowed the sound.

"Is this— is this okay?" Hajime breathed as they pulled apart. He pressed his forehead against Tooru, staring deep into Tooru's eyes. Tooru's fingers grazed across Hajime's face, mapping out the smooth expanse of his skin.

"Yes," he sighed, "Yes— yes, Hajime— Hajime, _please_ ," he whined, and Hajime had to rest his head in the crook of Tooru's neck to regain his composure. Tooru exhaled and arched his back as Hajime ran a hand up Tooru's thigh. Hajime sat back, then, to pull his shirt off. His shaking hands refused to function, though, and he ended up trapped in between the fabric. Tooru laughed softly, the sound familiar and comforting and yet entirely embarrassing to Hajime, as he helped pull it over his head.

"Sorry," Hajime said quietly, "My— I'm— my hands are— they're shaking." he laughed nervously.

"Mine are, too," Tooru replied, "It's fine, don't worry about it."

Tooru slipped out of his trousers, lifting his hips and pulling them off of his long, lean legs in one swift motion. Hajime took off his own sweatpants, too, and kissed at Tooru's neck before pulling off his t-shirt.

"Hajime," he moaned breathlessly, "You feel so _good_ , Hajime—"

Hajime kissed at Tooru's bare collarbones, and basked in the sight of Tooru spread over his mattress, skin milky pale and pure, like a clean sheet of marble.

"I love you," Hajime said quietly, "I love you— _I love you_ —"

Tooru's breath hitched, as though he was a drowning man, and he rubbed his groin up against Hajime's growing erection. Hajime's hands did not still; pressing up and down his spine, his ribs, and gripping his waist tightly. Tooru let out a rough breath as Hajime kissed across Tooru's chest and sternum, groaning into the skin. Tooru could feel it rattle deep inside his bones.

"You're gorgeous," hushed Hajime, "You're so beautiful."

Tooru bit his lips and tightened his hold on Hajime as Hajime's hand trailed downwards, gripping Tooru's ass with careful desire. Tooru bucked forwards and gasped breathlessly. Hajime so hard it was painful.

"Fuck," Tooru choked, "Hajime—"

Hajime kissed him, deeply, biting at his lips, and Tooru groaned as Hajime palmed his erection through Tooru's boxers. He could feel Tooru shiver beneath him as his hand slipped underneath the band and pulled his cock out, rubbing it slowly. Tooru arched impatiently as Hajime felt up Tooru's thigh once more. He rested his forehead against Tooru's, and Tooru opened his eyes to stare up at Hajime, pupils blown wide with desire.

"I feel like I should have lit some— _ah_ — candles, or something," Tooru gasped.

"Candles?" Hajime said, smile spreading across his kiss-swollen lips.

"Yeah," Tooru replied, "Candles and rose petals. You're so romantic, Hajime," he teased, and suddenly Hajime has brutally aware of the fact that it was Tooru lying sprawled underneath him, the same Tooru who caught bugs with him when he was seven, the same Tooru who had the same birthday party for three years in a row— going to the planetarium— and the very same Tooru who Hajime thought would never, _never_ in a million years comply to doing this.

It suddenly felt very real, and Hajime could feel his throat closing up, his eyes stinging.

"Hajime," Tooru whined, "Hajime, please—"

"Yeah," he said hoarsely, "I've got you, baby,"

Tooru moaned loudly, as though he were a porn star. Hajime felt his restraint shatter, and he kissed him on his open mouth. Hajime dug inside his beside drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube and spreading it over his hand before aligning himself with Tooru, their bodies mirror images of each other in every sense of the word. Tooru pushed his hips against Hajime at the sensation of Hajime's warm touch, his cock pulsating and leaking with desperation and desire. Neither of them was completely naked, and that was fine; Hajime had felt ready to combust even after the first kiss when they were completely clothed, and now, he was positively expecting himself to explode.

Tooru gasped and threw his head back as Hajime pumped his hand, slowly.

" _Fuck_ ," Tooru swore, and his fingers scrambled for hold before adding his hand a top of Hajime's. Hajime kissed at his jaw, along his neck, behind his ear, Tooru's skin warm underneath his lips and tongue.

"Tooru—" Hajime moaned, low and rough into Tooru's ear.

"Yes," Tooru hissed, "Say— say my name,"

Hajime bit at his neck.

"Shit, _Tooru_ —" he groaned.

Tooru mewled, and Hajime could have laughed, it sounded so loud and honest.

"Hajime," he breathed, "Hajime, Hajime— I love you— don't stop," he chanted, "I'm close— don't stop," his voice grew higher by an octave, and his back bowed.

"Tooru," Hajime sighed in a ragged breath, as Tooru's nails dug into his back, scratching into the skin, "Fuck, _Tooru_ —"

He thrust into their hands, and Tooru choked on a moan, tilting his hips up, fighting for release with the desperation of a man beginning for salvation at an altar. It crashed over him, suddenly, and all the tension inside Tooru's body was released through a loud groan of Hajime's name and white spurts of liquid over their hands and his lower abdomen. Hajime followed soon after, waves pulling him downwards until he had ridden out the last of his orgasm, breathing over Tooru's face and staring deep into his eyes as Tooru's trembling hand cupped Hajime's jaw and cheek.

He exhaled shakily, then, and Tooru smiled.

They were silent for a long moment.

"You— you should— we should probably get that cleaned up," Tooru spoke hoarsely.

Hajime's eyes flickered down to their hands and stomachs, covered in all sort of bodily fluids.

"Yeah," he said in a huff, "We should."

Neither of them moved for a long while, until Tooru hummed and reached to his side, pulling out a couple of tissues from Hajime's nightstand. He wiped them both down, and Hajime flopped down beside him on the bed. Tooru turned his head, then, and he laughed before leaning over and kissing him.

"You're so beautiful when you're happy," Hajime said softly, smiling, too.

Tooru blushed.

"When did you get this romantic, Hajime?" he groaned, ducking his head into the crook of Hajime's neck. Hajime could feel his grin on his skin.

"I can't help it," replied Hajime, "It's late. I'm emotionally unstable."

Tooru laughed once more, and pressed his forehead against Hajime's.

"We both know that's my job," he said, and Hajime laughed softly, and then Tooru kissed him once more, and it felt so perfect. He thought of the old, unknown world, which continued to rage around them, though it did not matter, in that moment. Tooru was here, in his arms, and that was all that mattered to him, and all that ever would matter to him, and wasn't that how it all started, really?

"I love you," Hajime whispered in a soft breath, words vulnerable, and as Tooru smiled gently at him, there was nothing else that made him feel more safe and at ease.

"I love you, too," Tooru replied, voice frail.

Hajime fell in love with him all over again.


End file.
